


here's my heart, don't break it

by cherryconke



Series: cut to the feeling [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Getting Together, Glenn Fraldarius adopts a cat, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: “Glenn–” Dimitri pulls away, gasping, despite all of his instincts telling himyes, yes, yes.“Do you– is this what you want?”Glenn’s eyes are fever-bright in the dark of his living room. “Yes,” he murmurs, wrapping both arms around Dimitri’s neck to pull him closer. “Yes, it is.”—Dimiglenn prequel tocut to the feeling, a Sylvix Olympics AU.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Glenn Fraldarius
Series: cut to the feeling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983256
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	here's my heart, don't break it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocketegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketegg/gifts).



> happy birthday casey!!! ❤️
> 
> you probably _could_ read this independent of [cut to the feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165362/chapters/63666295) if you wanted to, but you'd definitely miss some references/context.

—

_Rodrigue: Would you mind calling me when you’re done with practice? Thanks. –R Sent 1:37pm_

Dimitri blinks down at his phone screen. The time beneath the text reads 4:14pm, sitting unread in his locker for almost three hours while he’s been at practice, running drills up and down the field in the hot summer sun.

The dial tone only rings twice before Rodrigue picks up. There’s a muffled, barely audible _désolé,_ followed by the crisp click of dress shoes on tile and the shuffling sound of a door opening and closing. “Dimitri, sorry about that – how was practice?”

“It was–” Dimitri scrambles for the right word. _Brutal_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. His legs feel like jelly. It’s his first practice in two months, and he definitely feels it. “It was alright. Was there something you needed??”

“Yes. I was hoping you had time to do a quick favor for me, if you’re not busy.”

Dimitri looks around the empty locker room. The last of the team filed out a few minutes ago, leaving him with the familiar smell of stale sweat and the rattle of the air conditioning. Even if he had plans after practice, Dimitri couldn’t imagine turning Rodrigue down for an errand, especially after all he’s done for him. “No, I’m not busy. What’s up?”

“Glenn moved back to his apartment today–” 

Dimitri chokes and coughs on the swig of water he’d been in the middle of taking. “He _what?”_ he finally manages to splutter out, shocked panic welling in his chest. 

“I know, I know, that was my reaction too.” Rodrigue sounds sympathetic, if not unsurprised. Glenn can be just as stubborn as Felix is. “He texted me earlier to tell me he made it there fine, but I haven’t heard back from him since noon. I’m sure he’s fine, but Felix is in class and I–”

“I’ll go,” Dimitri interrupts. “Don’t worry, I’ll go.”

Rodrigue’s sigh of relief is palpable through the phone. “Thank you, Dimitri. I’m sure Glenn will appreciate seeing you instead of me. He had some choice words over the phone earlier.” He laughs, dry and self-deprecating. It wedges itself into the chipped crack in Dimitri’s heart. They’re all trying their best adjusting to life after the accident, but nobody’s been trying harder than Rodrigue to restore some semblance of normality. 

“It’s no trouble at all.” Dimitri’s silently grateful that Rodrigue can’t see the blush that’s flooded his cheeks, pink and hot against where he holds his phone to his ear. 

—

It takes twenty minutes to get from the practice field to Rodrigue’s villa where Glenn’s spare key is tucked away in an envelope in a kitchen drawer. It takes another fifteen to make it to Glenn’s apartment by foot, weaving in and out of tourist traffic, taking back alleys where he can, his gear bag hoisted across his back.

Dimitri finally hauls himself up the five-story walkup, silently cursing the perpetually broken lift as his lacrosse stick bangs against his shoulder with every stair. His legs feel thoroughly liquified by the time he makes it to Glenn’s front door, adorned with the number _15_ in wrought-iron, and knocks.

“Glenn?” Dimitri calls.

Silence.

Panic creeps up, slow and insidious in his chest when he tries again, firmer this time, his knuckles rattling the door in its frame: one, two, three times. “Glenn?”

Three knocks yields nothing, so he retrieves the key from the crumpled envelope with shaky hands. The lock tumbles and the front door swings open. 

Dimitri squints into the dimly lit hallway before stepping inside, careful to not let the ancient hardwoods creak too much beneath his running shoes. None of the lights have been turned on, and it’s clear that the apartment hasn’t been aired out in awhile. There’s a quiet sense of stillness, of dust and disuse.

“Glenn?” Dimitri’s voice cracks in a half-whisper as he moves down the hall, counting each step. There’s no sign of Glenn, no sign of anything other than an empty apartment. He passes the kitchen, where there isn’t a single dish out of place. Rodrigue must have hired cleaners to come tidy after the accident, hopeful that one day Glenn would return to his life.

No one thought it would be so soon. It’s only been two months since a week of touch-and-go, a week of _he might not remember much,_ a week of holding Glenn’s clammy palm by his bedside during the rare hours Felix wasn’t there to glare daggers at him. Rodrigue had relayed the doctor’s orders to Dimitri one night as they sat together in the hospital cafeteria: _at least a few months resting at home, then we’ll re-evaluate where he’s at._ Spread out on the table between them were a rainbow of pamphlets and folders: _Physical Therapy and the Road to Rehabilitation, Speech-Language Clinics in the Greater Paris Area, Can You Benefit From Occupational Therapy?_

When Dimitri finally steps from the narrow hallway into the living room, his heart catches in his chest.

Gauzy curtains filter the sunset shining through the balcony doors, everything cast in lush pink light. There’s a trail of clutter leading from Dimitri’s feet over to the low sofa: socks and shoes, a blue duffle bag embroidered with _Fraldarius_ overstuffed with clothing, its contents strewn about on the rug. A laptop lies on the ground next to a plastic bag bursting full with prescription bottles and folded-up pharmacy instructions.

Well, at least he remembered to pack his things. 

Glenn is asleep on the couch, his limbs curled into the smallest shape possible beneath the blanket. His hair lies in tangled disarray around him, sticking to his forehead and cheeks, his mouth parted open in the tease of a snore. He looks unbearably cute like this, sleep-sweet and peaceful, and it takes all of the self-control Dimitri has to not wake him by scattering kisses across his nose, his brow, his cheeks.

Instead, he kneels between the sofa and the coffee table, wincing as his overworked muscles scream in protest. He strokes the back of his hand across Glenn’s forehead, careful to keep his touch featherlight. No fever. That was something his doctor had said to watch for, especially after exerting too much energy. Dimitri breathes a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Glenn?”

Glenn shifts towards the sound of Dimitri’s voice, nose wrinkling. He burrows further into the pile of blankets before settling back into sleep. Dimitri can’t help but laugh, soft and breathless.

Lately, Glenn’s asleep more often than he’s awake. It’s a side effect of the meds, of his body and brain working to heal. It’s hard to mind much, though, especially when he looks so peaceful.

Dimitri dares to reach his hand out to brush the hair back from Glenn’s face, carefully tucking overgrown bangs behind the delicate shell of his ear. He tries again, a bit louder this time.

“Glenn? Glenn, wake up…”

Watching Glenn come awake before him is a slow process, one that involves cat-like stretches and a series of muffled yawns. He finally blinks, rubbing at his eyes with a curled fist. “D– Dima?” he stutters through a wide yawn. “What are you doing here?”

Dimitri knows better than to say _Rodrigue sent me to check on you because he was worried._ That would just get both him and Rodrigue in trouble.He shrugs, tries to play nonchalant. “Your dad mentioned you came home today. I was on my way home from practice and decided to stop by and see if you’ve eaten yet.”

“No, I–” Glenn frowns, looking perplexed. “I don’t think I did.” He looks up at Dimitri, brow furrowed. “What time is it? How long have I been out?”

“I’m not sure.” Dimitri realizes all at once that he’s still absentmindedly stroking Glenn’s hair back behind his ear. He reluctantly withdraws his hand, grateful that Glenn doesn’t seem to notice. “I hope it was a good nap.”

Glenn smiles. “Yeah, it was.”

Silence has always been comfortable with Glenn. The accident didn’t change that. Dimitri spends more time than ever just sitting with him, quiet. In the beginning, it was hard to hold a conversation anyway – his memory was foggy and the persistent headaches made it difficult for him to focus. He’s improved since then, staying awake for more than a handful of minutes at a time. But for the most part, it’s always been the same: with Glenn, Dimitri doesn’t scramble to fill the air with empty noise.

He sneaks a glance at Glenn. His lashes cast dark shadows in the waning sunlight, looking past Dimitri through the windows overlooking the book stores and bakeries that line his street. 

_He’s beautiful,_ Dimitri thinks.

“Are you hungry?” Glenn asks. 

Dimitri snaps out of his reverie. “Yeah. I’ll order food.”

Glenn sits up slowly, still cocooned in his blanket, motioning Dimitri to sit beside him. He winces as he stretches out his legs. He’s going to be _so_ sore tomorrow. Glenn immediately sinks into his side, pillowing his head against his shoulder. 

They’ve always been close, and Glenn’s always been physically affectionate – full of casual hugs and kisses to cheeks and fond hair ruffles – but since the accident he’s been impossibly clingy. Not just to Dimitri, but to Felix, too. Heat pools in Dimitri’s cheeks as Glenn curls into him, watching curiously over his shoulder as he scrolls through the list of nearby places that deliver.

“Pizza?”

“No.”

“Gyros?”

“No.”

Between the two brothers, Glenn’s always been the pickiest.

“Teriyaki?”

Glenn pauses, thoughtful. “Okay.”

—

It’s the start of a routine: Mondays through Fridays, Dimitri spends his evenings with Glenn. 

He goes to classes in the morning and practice in the afternoon, like he has every weekday since his first day of freshman year. After practice, he walks from the field to Glenn’s apartment. Most days he picks up takeout on the way and they eat dinner together in front of the TV, steadily working their way through Glenn’s Netflix queue.

After a month of exhausting all the good restaurants that deliver, Dimitri starts picking up groceries. He fills Glenn’s empty pantry and fridge. Dedue sends him recipes for simple, healthy meals that will keep. He learns that Glenn doesn’t like zucchini or tomatoes, but he’ll doggedly pick around them if Dimitri forgets and accidentally adds them in. His favorite meal is medium-rare steak with white rice and butter, something Dimitri remembers eating when he would visit the Fraldarius house as a kid. Rodrigue always insisted on cooking homemade meals, even when all three of them begged for pizza.

Dimitri does his homework there, hunched over his laptop at the coffee table as Glenn sleeps on the couch, a mindless TV show on mute in the background. When he finally walks back to his own flat – sometimes not until midnight, one, one-thirty – his exhaustion is a heavy, palpable thing. He can’t complain, though, not when he sleeps deeply at night, dead to the world and free from nightmares.

—

“Dima?” Glenn asks. He’s peeling carrots over the compost bin while Dimitri chops potatoes. Dinner tonight is one of Dedue’s recipes, a hearty stew with simple instructions: chop everything, throw it all in the crockpot. _Foolproof,_ Dedue had called it, _and I believe Glenn will enjoy it too._

“Yes?”

Glenn dumps a handful of carrots on Dimitri’s cutting board. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Tomorrow is Tuesday, which means early morning practice and biology lab right after. “Only in the morning. Why?”

“Would you mind taking me to a few appointments?” Dimitri looks up, quirking a brow at Glenn. Of course he doesn’t mind, but Glenn’s always been reluctant to ask for too many favors, insisting he can handle everything himself. “I would ask Felix, but he has practice, and I don’t want to–”

“Of course.” Glenn’s shoulders slump in relief as Dimitri smiles. “You don’t need to explain to me,” he says gently.

He lets out a weak laugh, leaning into Dimitri’s side. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

They’re quiet, save for the familiar hum of the TV on in the living room, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as Dimitri continues quartering potatoes. 

It’s comfortable, leaning on one another like this.

“Thank you,” Glenn says softly.

Dimitri’s heart clenches in his chest. “Of course.”

—

Mondays through Fridays, Dimitri gets stronger.

Skipping practice and gym days has turned his body softer, his reflexes slower. He misses easy goals and loses his breath after drills he used to be able to do in his sleep. The rest of the team is kind and understanding in a way that makes his heart hurt, undeserving of their forgiveness. Dedue meets him at the gym on Saturday mornings and pushes him to sprint harder, to lift an extra rep, to dig deeper. 

It pays off. After a handful of losses, the Lions start winning games again. They’re just friendly regional matches that don’t mean much in the off season, but they do bolster their spirits. The Lions are slated to start the season strong when spring comes.

Glenn gets stronger too. Improvement is slow, a glacial pace, really, but Dimitri’s grateful for anything at all. Glenn’s doctor hadn’t been able to emphasize that possibility enough. _Even partial recovery isn’t guaranteed._ He sleeps less, starts spending more time up and moving around than in bed. Dimitri buys him a dry-erase wall calendar to help him keep track of his appointments and his pharmacy refills.

He starts to remember more: to pick up paper towels from the corner store, where he last left his keys, when the Lions’ next game is. He works hard for the independence he craved while he was recovering at Rodrigue’s in his childhood bedroom. Their routine is good for Glenn. It’s good for both of them. 

Slowly but surely, the good days begin to outweigh the bad.

—

_Glenn: come over? there's someone i want u to meet Sent 4:17pm_

Dimitri doesn’t think a simple text has ever made him so nervous. He’s been sweating since he picked up his phone after practice and saw Glenn’s name in his notifications. Who would he even want Dimitri to meet? If he was dating – even if he was going out with friends – Dimitri didn’t know anything of it. 

He’s known, deep down, that whatever they have – if it’s to be considered anything at all – is just temporary. Glenn is lonely, so is Dimitri, and it makes sense to find solace in one another. He’s only just stopped questioning why Glenn even keeps him around, seeing as he was the one to do this to him in the first place. 

He steels himself and knocks twice on Glenn’s front door. “Glenn?”

“Come in,” Glenn calls. 

Dimitri’s greeted with the smell of pizza and the wholly unexpected sight of Ingrid in the kitchen. She’s rummaging through drawers and muttering to herself. 

He masks his surprise and leans up against the doorframe. “Hi, Ingrid. Looking for something?” 

She looks over her shoulder and grins. “Look who decided to show up. Do you know where the corkscrew is?”

“Left of the sink, second drawer down.”

“Thanks.”

Dimitri looks at the spread of pizza boxes on the counter and frowns. “Is this a party?”

Ingrid snorts as she works the cork out of the bottle pulling it free with a quiet _pop!_ “No. Felix just told me to come over for dinner. Wine?”

“Sure.” He’s going to need it to make it through tonight. Dimitri leans back to look down the hall. There’s music playing in the living room mixing with the low sound of voices. His stomach flips as a wave of nervous nausea rises in his belly. “Felix is here?”

She gives him an odd look. “Yeah, he’s the one who took Glenn earlier today. Have you met her?” 

Dimitri almost coughs up a mouthful of his wine. _“Her?”_

Ingrid raises her brow. “Yeah. They’re in the living room, go say hi.”

He moves like he’s in a trance, heart beating high and hard in his chest. Felix is on the sofa, facing away from him, but Glenn perks up immediately from where he’s sitting on the floor. Dimitri’s eyes immediately dart to the bathroom door, checking all the places _she_ could be, but it’s cracked open, and there’s no one on the balcony either–

“Dima, you’re here!” Glenn exclaims. He’s flushed and smiling, and Dimitri can’t help but smile too, despite the inevitable heartbreak he’s about to face. 

“Yeah.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, you’re going to love her – isn’t he, Felix?” His words come out breathless, quick and excited.

Felix grunts, noncommittal. He’d immediately buried his nose in his phone when Dimitri came into the room.

“Hello, Felix. It’s nice to see you,” he tries. Extending the olive branch. Felix just grunts again, but truthfully, Dimitri hadn’t really expected anything different.

He turns back to Glenn, heart thundering in his ears. “So, who am I meeting?”

“Oh–” Glenn looks down, and from over the back of the sofa Dimitri can see him picking up something next to him on the ground, and when he brings it up to his chest, it’s small and dark and distinctly… _furry?_ “Dimitri, meet Meatball. Meatball, Dimitri.”

_Meatball,_ as it turns out, is not Glenn’s new girlfriend, but a thirteen year old cat. She’s blind in one eye, mostly deaf, and the scruffiest, most pitiful thing Dimtiri’s ever laid eyes on. Glenn waves her paw for her from where she’s cradled belly-up in his lap, grinning even as she lets out a loud, cranky _mrrow._

“Hi, Meatball,” Dimitri says, thoroughly dumbstruck.

—

“Why Meatball?” Dimitri finally musters up the courage to ask. They’re each two glasses of wine in – except for Glenn – and they’re gathered around the coffee table. Meatball is sprawled in Glenn’s lap like she was born to be there. She hadn’t taken kindly to Dimitri, hissing at him the moment he tried to pick her up. Glenn had just laughed fondly, clearly smitten already. 

Glenn shrugs. “Her old owner, I guess. She had it when she came to the shelter.”

“I still think you could rename her to something different,” Ingrid says. 

Felix looks up from shuffling a deck of cards, scandalized. “It’s been her name for the past thirteen years. You can’t just _change_ it.”

Ingrid frowns. “I bet she doesn’t even know it!”

“Meatball,” Glenn coos sweetly down at her. She blinks back, unphased. “Mimi,” he tries again. 

_“Mimi?”_ Ingrid says.

“Ingrid just doesn’t like cats,” Felix says disapprovingly.

“That’s not true,” she argues back. “I just like–”

_“Horses more,”_ Glenn and Felix say in unison, exasperated. 

“We know,” Felix adds on quickly, before she can start going on about her beloved Twinkle and why horses are clearly superior companion animals. Dimitri’s quietly thankful. He’s heard the same passionate speech about a dozen times before.

“I like her name,” Dimitri says. “It fits her.”

Glenn beams at him from across the coffee table, radiant in his joy.

—

Mondays through Fridays, Dimitri falls in love.

He realizes this when they’re curled up on the couch together on a Friday night. Glenn picked the movie – some old action flick Felix recommended with plenty of sword fights – and fell asleep five minutes in, dozing against Dimitri’s shoulder. He’s barely paid attention to the plot himself, melting into the cushions after today’s rigorous conditioning drills. 

When the credits roll, Dimitri gently nudges Glenn awake, like he’s done every night for the past few weeks. 

“Glenn?”

Glenn burrows deeper into where he’s holding on to Dimitri’s arm, pressing his nose against his bicep. He hums lazily, still half-asleep. 

“Need help?” Dimitri asks through a smile. 

“Mm,” Glenn agrees.

Most nights, Dimitri slips on his shoes and gathers his things into his backpack as Glenn shuffles off to bed, yawning as he murmurs _night, Dima._ Sometimes, though, when Glenn’s particularly exhausted, Dimitri helps him into bed – carrying him the few short steps to his bedroom and pulling the covers back to tuck him in. He’s always struck by how little Glenn is in those moments, light as a feather. 

Tonight, he goes easy when Dimitri scoops him up. Glenn clings to his neck as he pulls him out of the couch, dearly hoping that he can’t feel how fast his heart is beating, a quick _thump-thump_ against his rib cage. Dimitri’s deliberately careful as he bumps open the bedroom door with one elbow, sidestepping piles of laundry to settle him down in bed. 

Glenn’s lashes flutter as he stretches and curls into his pillow, already well on his way to falling back asleep by the time Dimitri tugs the duvet over him. He’s always so tempted to linger, to brush Glenn’s hair from his eyes and kiss his forehead, but only allows himself the indulgence of doing it every so often. He leans down, pressing the ghost of a kiss to his forehead, relieved – as always – when Glenn doesn’t stir.

Dimitri’s halfway out the door when he hears a soft, sleepy, “D-Dima?” 

He turns, and Glenn’s blinking up at him. Light from the living room pours in, illuminating him in hazy gold. Dimitri shifts so that he blocks it with his body, shielding Glenn from the light. “Yes?”

“Will you stay?”

He’s not sure if he’s heard right. “Stay– stay the night?”

“Yeah,” Glenn yawns, like it’s obvious. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Dimitri hesitates in the doorway, frozen there, undecided, weighing the pros and cons. His mind immediately jumps to _he’s just tired, half-asleep, really, he doesn’t know what he’s asking,_ but then another voice in his head says _he hasn’t even taken his pain meds since lunch, there’s no way he’s loopy from those._ In the end, Glenn’s murmured, slurred, “p-please? C’mere?” is what finally does him in.

Dimitri’s body is slow, sluggish, like he’s moving underwater as he takes off his sweatshirt and socks. His joggers and t-shirt are comfortable enough, and he gingerly settles himself on the opposite side of the bed, careful not to get too close, not to intrude on Glenn’s personal space. It’s useless, though, because Glenn rolls over to curl into him. It’s no different than how they sit together on the couch, but it feels a million times more taboo horizontal like this. 

“Night, Dima,” Glenn murmurs, nudging his nose into his chest.

“Goodnight,” he says, but Glenn’s already drifting back to sleep, pressed up against his pounding heart.

—

“Do you think it’s alright that I’m here?” 

Dimitri’s sweating when they pull into the gymnasium parking lot; his hands are clammy on the steering wheel as he eases Glenn’s car into a spot near the entrance.

Glenn looks up from his phone, giving him a curious look. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Today marks six months since the accident. Six months since Dimitri and Felix’s falling out at Glenn’s bedside. Watching the steady tick of the monitor beep as they waited for Glenn to wake up was the lowest Dimitri’s ever been in his life. He thinks he might have even prayed once or twice, something he used to only play pretend at sitting in church wedged between Felix and Ingrid. 

Felix told him to stop feeling sorry for himself. Dimitri snapped back, said something senseless and rude about Felix caring more about gymnastics than his brother. They were both drowning in fear, in self-loathing, struggling to keep their heads above water. 

It only devolved from there, a messy argument with Glenn’s body lying in a hospital bed between them. Ingrid had been the one to finally break it up, pulling Dimitri out of the room with furious tears in her eyes.

Today also marks Felix’s first gymnastics meet since he resumed training. Glenn was insistent upon driving the hour and a half out of the city to cheer for him in the stands.

_Because I’m pretty sure Felix hates me,_ Dimitri wants to say.

“Come on,” Glenn smiles, unbuckling his seatbelt. He looks more excited than Dimitri’s seen him in weeks. “Let’s get in before all the good seats are gone.”

—

When Dimitri tells him he’s going out of town for the weekend, Glenn’s face falls into a pout.

“I wish I could come,” he says, wistful. It’s the Lions’ first away match of the season, the first time the team will travel after losing Glenn as their goalie.

“I do too,” Dimitri sympathizes. “But it’s just a few days, and you shouldn’t miss your appointments–”

“I know, I know,” Glenn says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll miss you, though.”

They spend most nights together now, curled around each other on Glenn’s mattress. Glenn insists he sleeps better knowing someone’s around; Dimitri’s nightmares fade in frequency. He keeps an extra pair of pajamas and clothes in his duffle bag; a spare toothbrush in an empty drawer in the bathroom.

He doesn’t tell anyone. Neither does Glenn. It’s their secret: not exactly innocent, too good to be true. It’s become part of their routine. When Glenn asks, Dimitri stays.

“I’ll miss you too.”

—

Dedue scores two goals, the second of which brings the Lions to victory. They celebrate at a nearby bar with greasy pub food and a staggering amount of beer. Dimitri’s a few drinks in when he realizes the last time they were doing this was in Rio after they made it to quarterfinals. Glenn had been rosy-cheeked next to him, ordering round after round of caipirinhas for the table. 

He’s walking back to the hotel when his phone rings. 

“G- Glenn?” He pulls his phone back to check the time. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Glenn says. He sounds more tired than usual. “Sorry– is now a bad time?”

“No–” Dimitri narrowly avoids tripping over the curb. “Just walking home.”

“Oh.” He can’t be sure, because he’s more than a little drunk, but Glenn sounds almost wistful. “Congrats, by the way. I wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

He steps in the elevator, and words bubble up, unbidden and intoxicated. All the things Dimitri wants to say to him but never has. _I wish you were here too. I wish Rio never happened. I miss you._

Instead he says, “Me too. It was a great game. Everyone played their best.”

Glenn hums. “Yeah. I bet.”

Dimitri sandwiches the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fishes around for his keycard. “It’s late,” he realizes out loud.

“Yeah.” He can hear Glenn readjust in bed, the rustle of shifting sheets. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Glenn huffs a sigh. “It’s just… I sleep better with you here.”

Dimitri’s heart clenches in his chest, tipsy affection blooming through him. “Me too,” he says. “You’re always so warm.”

At first he thinks maybe that was just a thought, but he realizes the words actually slipped out when Glenn laughs softly. “Says the human furnace.”

They stay on the phone all night. Glenn’s too tired to talk much, but Dimitri’s more than happy to let the steady sound of his breathing through the receiver lull him to sleep. 

—

The guilt that eats him alive slowly fades. 

Dimitri’s best days are the ones he spends with Glenn. Even mundane, everyday chores are better with him by his side. They’re inseparable; Dimitri spends most weekends over at his apartment. They were falling asleep on the phone most nights away from each other anyway.

Glenn heals. He’s different from the party-animal Dimitri knew before the accident; more responsible, less flippant. He learns to lean on Dimitri for the minor things – remembering where they parked the car, if he’s taken his meds already, what they did two days ago. _Spacy,_ Glenn calls himself every time he forgets, brushing it off with a small smile.

Dimitri, on the other hand, tries his hardest to commit everything to memory in case Glenn asks. It’s a peculiar exercise, actively _noticing,_ and it helps keep his mind out of where it typically strays when left alone: the dark place filled with voices that repeat like a mantra over and over again. _You did this to him. You’re the reason he’s like this._

Felix works hard to qualify for Tokyo. He consistently places top in the country, rising in the ranks to become France’s sweetheart, shoe-in pick for the Games next year. Glenn, Dimitri and Rodrigue are there when he finally qualifies in Stuttgart, cheering him on from the stands.

The Lions are well on their way too. Only a handful of games stand between them and winning the World Games. Dimitri practices six, seven, eight hours a day. They go over offensive plays until Dimitri swears he could run them in his sleep. When he drops into bed next to Glenn each night, he’s bone-tired. He doesn’t have nightmares for multiple nights in a row.

Fall arrives and so does senior year. Glenn tells him to go, enjoy it, soak up the parties and the booze and the dumb, drunken mistakes he’ll laugh about later. Dimitri tries – he really does – but at the end of the night he’s mostly sober when he walks Ingrid and Annette back to their apartment, only to turn right around and catch the metro back to Glenn’s.

He’s already in bed when Dimitri slips off his shoes in the entryway and ditches his t-shirt that smells like cheap, spilled beer. He’s careful not to disturb Glenn too much after he showers and climbs into bed, but Glenn rolls over anyway, blinking at him from across the pillows. 

“Hey,” he says, voice rough and sleep sweet. “How was it?”

Dimitri considers. “Loud. Crowded.”

Glenn chuckles. “Yeah, that’s kind of how those things go.” 

Dimitri watches the way the covers rise and fall with each breath Glenn takes. It’s soothing, even as he itches to reach out and pull him closer. 

“Coach called me today,” Glenn says quietly.

Dimitri looks over at him. “He did?”

“Yeah. He wants me to help out, says you guys need the extra little push to make it to quarterfinals.”

Dimitri can’t help the wry smirk that spreads across his face. Like they haven’t been worked to the bone the past few weeks; he doesn’t think he’s ever been in better shape in his life. “Really, now?”

“Yes, really,” Glenn protests, scooting to sit up in bed, pushing the messy waves of hair from his face. “He wants me to come on as his assistant. I guess he’s been struggling managing everything.”

“Oh.” Realization dawns upon Dimitri as he realizes what this means. “Glenn, that’s wonderful – are you going to do it?”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing. “Yeah, yeah I am, I told him yes–”

Dimitri cuts him off and immediately pulls him down into a hug. Warmth blooms through him, making him positively giddy at the thought of Glenn being part of the Lions again. Glenn laughs again, clear and sweet, wrapping his arms around Dimitri’s back.

“I didn’t realize you’d be so happy,” he mumbles against Dimitri’s shoulder, clearly surprised. “Miss me much?”

“Yes,” Dimitri breathes. Maybe he should feel embarrassed at how raw and honest he sounds, but all he feels is happiness. “Yes, I missed you very much.”

—

“Is something the matter?” Dimitri asks.

The car ride home has been unusually quiet today. Glenn returns his questions about how coaching was with noncommittal grunts that remind Dimitri so much of Felix it’s a little scary. Glenn hasn’t asked about how his practice went, either, something he usually delights in hearing about on the drive.

Glenn mutters something indiscernible.

Dimitri turns the radio volume down. “What?”

“I said, _no.”_

Dimitri frowns. “It just seems like there’s something bothering you, and I–”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Glenn says, clearly bothered by something.

Dimitri sighs, settling his hand back on the wheel. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?”

“I just meant…” he trails off, stuck. “Nevermind. What would you like for dinner?”

“Don’t care,” Glenn says.

Anxiety twists in his belly, slippery and uncomfortable.

“Okay.”

-

They make steak and buttered rice for dinner. Glenn’s favorite. Dimitri’s given up trying to be subtle. He flips back and forth between _everyone has bad days_ to _he’s angry with me_ while they cook.

“Okay,” Dimitri finally says. Glenn’s barely even touched his food. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”

Glenn puts his fork down. “No.”

Dimitri waits. His stomach twists again. He steadies his palms on his knees. He doesn’t know how long he waits. Glenn finally looks up.

“I think you should go,” he says. His voice is shaking.

It feels as though the world has fallen away from his feet. There’s a voice in the back of his mind that feels a terrible sense of resignation. _So this is how it ends. I always thought it was too good to be true._

“W- what?”

Glenn just looks at him, but Dimitri can’t read his expression.

“Please, just– just tell me what happened, I–”

“You didn’t do anything.”

Relief floods through him, followed by confusion. “But- what?”

“I think,” and Glenn takes a breath, eyes sliding away from Dimitri’s. “I think I’d like to be alone tonight.” He says each word carefully, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing.

Dimitri recognizes a dismissal for what it is, but that doesn’t make it any easier to rise from the table and rinse his plate in the sink. Glenn sits at the kitchen table, unmoving, as he grabs his duffel bag from the couch. When he lets himself out the front door with a quiet _bye,_ he’s still there, looking down at his plate of half-eaten dinner.

—

It’s easily the worst two weeks of Dimitri’s life, second only to Glenn’s accident. He tries to go through the motions, but everything feels pointless. It’s almost scary how easy it is to slip back into the barely functioning, depressive state he was in just a year ago. 

Dimitri forgets to eat. He gets little sleep. Most nights he wakes up soaked in a cold sweat, his throat raw from screaming. The nightmares return, he replays that throw in his head over and over again. Watches Glenn go down like a puppet with all its strings cut, his body hitting the field as the ball rolls away, blood staining the grass. Over and over again.

Glenn doesn’t show up to practice. Dimitri doesn’t ask their coach why. It’s better for both of them, he thinks, to not draw attention to their falling out. 

Dedue tries to ground him, get him to focus on winning games, working out, eating right, the here and now. Dimitri tries to shrug him off, but on the third week of not seeing or hearing from Glenn, Dedue calls in reinforcements.

“Do you have dinner plans tonight?” Ingrid asks. She never calls him – she much prefers to communicate in short, to the point texts – so when her name popped up on Dimitri’s phone, he’d immediately answered.

“No,” Dimitri says. “I–”

“Great. There’s a new ramen place I want to try.”

-

“Are you ready for quarterfinals?” Ingrid asks around a mouthful of ramen. The shop she’s dragged him to is small but bright. They spend twenty minutes waiting on the sidewalk and by the time they sit down and order they’re both starving. Dimitri’s thankful that she’s waited until their bowls are mostly empty to continue catching up.

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “I think so.”

Ingrid raises her brow, unconvinced. “Dedue mentioned you missed practice yesterday.”

“I–” Dimitri stalls. “I overslept, that’s all.”

It’s at least a little true: he hadn’t slept much the night before and when a sudden, rare wave of exhaustion hit him, he hadn’t been able to resist the siren’s call of an afternoon nap.

She gives him a wry look. Dimitri quickly changes the subject. “How is your off season going?” 

He spends the rest of their meal draining his bowl as she tells him about how tennis and classes have been going. Dimitri regrets the way they’ve drifted apart, but the wide, impossible gap between his and Felix’s friendship is tricky to navigate. It’s hard to feel welcome at her and Annette’s flat when Felix is seemingly always there, refusing to even look at him.

The fall air is cool and crisp when they step outside and say their goodbyes. 

“Hey,” Ingrid calls out as he turns away to leave. “Have you been spending much time with Glenn?”

His chest aches. “No. Not lately.”

Her breath clouds up around her face. “Felix says he’s been pretty low about the whole assistant manager thing.” She shrugs. “I thought it might be too soon for him to go back.”

Confusion scrambles his thoughts, trying to connect the pieces of what she’s saying. “What do you mean?”

Ingrid frowns. “He hasn’t been at practice, has he?”

“No, he quit almost a month ago.” _Because he didn’t want to see me._

“Huh. I didn’t realize he quit,” she says. “Felix told me he was asked to step down.”

Realization washes over him with terrible, dreadful clarity.

—

_Glenn: come over? Sent 12:48am_

Dimitri shows up at half past one on Glenn’s doorstep. Glenn’s wearing one of his old Lions sweatshirts over sleep shorts when he opens the door. It keeps slipping off his shoulder. He looks as exhausted as Dimitri feels.

It should be more awkward, he thinks, as Glenn flips the kettle on for tea. But they still move around each other with comfortable, familiar ease. Dimitri waits, leaning up against the kitchen counter as he watches Glenn stir honey and lemon juice into their cups. 

They settle on the couch. Dimitri can’t help but notice the distance between them, wider than he ever remembers there being.

“I–” Glenn starts, then stops. The words are clearly hard for him to get out. “I wanted to talk to you. To- to apologize.”

Dimitri starts to protest, but Glenn cuts him off. He’s fidgeting with the tag on his teabag. “I shouldn’t have asked you to leave, I should’ve just _told_ you, but I was upset–”

“It’s okay,” Dimitri breathes. 

“No,” Glenn argues, eyes flashing as he looks up at him, still stubborn as ever. “No, it’s not. I pushed you away and didn’t tell you why. It wasn’t fair to you. And– and I’m sorry.” His voice cracks at the end, and Dimitri wants nothing more than to reach out, to comfort him. He holds back and tries to keep his voice steady instead.

“Glenn, it’s alright, really–”

“Dimitri. Please.” Glenn lets out a shaky breath. “Stop making excuses for me.”

He opens his mouth to refute, but no words come out. 

“I understand if you’re upset, if you’re mad at me. I probably would be too. Coach asked me to step down from assistant manager… he said I wasn’t ready yet.” Glenn laughs, nervous and quiet. His voice gets softer now. “But I miss you. A lot.”

“I know. I miss you too,” Dimitri murmurs. It feels like he can barely breathe.

Glenn cracks a smile at this, small and trembling. “Yeah?” 

Dimitri nods. “Yeah.” 

The tension cracks and dissipates when Dimitri gives in and reaches out for him. Glenn slots into his arms easily, burying his head against Dimitri’s chest. 

God, how he’s missed this. 

Dimitri loses track of how long they sit there together, wrapped up in one another. He counts the way Glenn’s breath slows to a deep, rolling wave, steady against his chest. Contentment settles over him like a warm blanket as he gathers Glenn tighter against his chest.

“Dima?” Glenn asks, muffled against his shoulder. Dimitri might’ve thought he’d be asleep if it wasn’t for the occasional flutter of his eyelashes against the skin of his neck. He strokes a hand across Glenn’s back.

“Yes?”

Glenn’s voice sounds broken, almost-warbly. He pulls away to look up at Dimitri. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to play again?”

“Oh,” Dimitri breathes. It feels like his heart has been punched straight out of his chest. Glenn’s just looking at him, sorrow creeping in as his face crumples. He’s somehow still beautiful like this, raw and vulnerable, looking at Dimitri like he somehow has all the answers. “Glenn, I…”

Glenn looks like he wants to say something, but then he strokes his hand across Dimitri’s cheek, and his face is so close Dimitri could count the grey-blue freckles in his eyes, and then Glenn’s pulling him down, further and further–

Their first kiss is tentative. Dimitri barely dares to breathe as Glenn traces chapped lips with his own, heart pounding wildly in his chest. But then Dimitri leans in, and so does Glenn, and it’s sweeter than he ever imagined when they come together again and again.

Glenn is warm and soft beneath him as they kiss, giving as good as he gets. Soon he’s licking Dimitri’s lower lip with a small, wounded noise that makes Dimitri weak at the knees, mouth parting to reciprocate. He tastes sweet, honey and lemon. 

“Glenn–” he pulls away, gasping, despite all of his instincts telling him _yes, yes, yes._ “Do you– is this what you want?”

Glenn’s eyes are fever-bright in the dark of his living room. “Yes,” he murmurs, wrapping both arms around Dimitri’s neck to pull him closer. “Yes, it is.”

–

Dimitri learns several things that night.

Glenn is obsessed with kissing. He can’t seem to get enough of Dimitri’s mouth, of the shape of his throat, of the beat of his pulse beneath his skin. He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses all over Dimitri’s chest and bruising ones across his shoulders. Dimitri tries to match him: for every kiss Glenn presses against his skin, he returns with three more. The palm of his hand, the crease of his thigh, the bridge of his nose. There, and there, and there.

The shape of Glenn’s body fits perfectly against his. Dimitri already knew a little bit about this from their nights sleeping curled up with one another, but they find new ways to fit together: Glenn spread out on the bed beneath him, his back arching against Dimitri’s belly. Glenn seated in his lap, their chests pressed together. Glenn’s fingers twined with his, finding felicity in the slip of their palms together.

Dimitri learns there are so many ways pleasure can sound. The little sighs Glenn makes when Dimitri strokes up the inside of his thighs. Soft, breathless laughter as Dimitri takes each of Glenn’s hands in his and pins him down against the sheets. The slick, wet slide when they finally come together, gasping into each other’s mouths. 

Glenn clings to him like he’s trying to make up for lost time. Asks for him again and again, until there are quiet, unshed tears at the corners of his eyes. Dimitri kisses his cheeks and tucks Glenn’s face into his neck, covering his body in his own. When they finally fall asleep, tangled in one another, the sun is just beginning to rise.

The nightmares don’t come. They both sleep sound, sticky and sated, slotted against each other.

—

“Thank you,” Glenn says to the receptionist. “I’ll see you next week.” 

Dimitri looks up from his phone where he’s reading through a new recipe Dedue texted him. Macaroni and cheese - one of his personal favorites. He hopes Glenn likes it, too, though Dimitri’s not entirely sure how to make a _roux._

“Ready to go?” Glenn asks, smiling. He’s always in a good mood right after his physio appointments – the electrostimulation therapy at the end of his sessions is one of the most effective ways of treating the chronic pain in his shoulder, another side effect of the accident.

“Yeah.” Dimitri slides his arm around his waist as they walk to the car. It’s still exhilarating, being able to reach out and hold Glenn whenever he wants to instead of dreaming about it. “I was thinking of trying to make mac and cheese tonight for dinner.”

Glenn wrinkles his nose. “Just don’t put jalapeños in it and I’ll be fine.”

“Felix did do that, didn’t he?” Dimitri ponders. It’s been forever since he’s had one of Felix’s weird kitchen experiments, usually an alarming shade of red.

Glenn snorts. “Yeah. And he’d always forget to tell me.”

Dimitri laughs and starts the car. “I forgot about that.”

-

They’re cuddled up together on the couch later that night, full of cheese and noodles. Some cooking competition is playing on TV when Glenn’s phone vibrates against the coffee table. Dimitri reaches for it – longer arms – and hands it to Glenn. He’s careful not to disturb Meatball as he does it, who’s currently draped across Glenn’s stomach.

Dimitri can feel Glenn tense up in his lap. “What’s up?” He asks, idly stroking his fingers beneath Glenn’s ponytail. 

“I– Oh.” Glenn trails off, looking down at his phone in disbelief. “Coach wants me to come back.”

This makes Dimitri sit up, peering over Glenn’s shoulder. “What?”

“As a personal trainer, not as his assistant– he said _there’s individual room for improvement before championships. I’d like for you to fill that gap.”_

Dimitri can’t help his smile. “That’s wonderful news, Glenn, I–” he pauses to pepper small kisses down the line of his nose, ending on his mouth. “Will you accept?”

This gives Glenn pause. “I- I’m not sure.” Doubt flickers across his face. “I don’t want to fail again,” he finally says.

“Oh, love,” Dimitri murmurs against his forehead. “I think you’ll do wonderfully.”

“You think so?” Glenn asks. There’s a glimmer of a smile on his face now, amused at Dimitri’s wholehearted belief in him. 

“I know so.” Dimitri says. “You were always the most disciplined out of everyone at the gym. You’ll whip them right into shape.” 

“I’ll whip _you_ into shape,” Glenn grins against his mouth and pulls him down, down, down. 

Dimitri’s never been happier to fall.

—

“Dimitri, p-please–” Glenn’s voice cracks, throaty with pleasure. “I need-”

Dimitri smooths his palms across the back of Glenn’s thighs. They’re kiss-bitten and rubbed pink from his stubble. “I know,” he murmurs, his mouth wet all the way to his chin. “I know, lovely, I’ll take care of you.”

He’s got Glenn spread out on the bed beneath him, feverish and flushed. It’s their first time doing it like this. Usually Glenn opens himself up on his own fingers, sloppy and hurried. The first few times Dimitri hadn’t even lasted until the main event, watching Glenn was heady enough on it’s own, looking like he’d been plucked right out of Dimitri’s fantasies.

Glenn kicks his heel against Dimitri’s shoulder. Always so impatient.

“Getting there,” he says, pressing the words into the crease of Glenn’s thigh. Most nights, Glenn wants it rough and fast, but sometimes there are nights like these, when Dimitri can take his time and luxuriate in the way he feels beneath him. The jut of his hips in his hands, the taste of his skin.

Dimitri crooks his fingers up and Glenn moans, rolling his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, Dima, c’mon,” he pants. Dimitri just smiles and kisses the top of his thigh. “Who knew you were such a tease?”

He can’t help but laugh, because really, _him,_ a tease? His cheeks grow warm even as he pulls another low moan out of Glenn, rolling his fingers over the spot that’s made his hips buck up to chase pleasure. 

“A tease, hm?” Dimitri asks. There’s something heady about the way Glenn reacts to his touch. It makes him feel confident, sure, in a way he never would’ve expected to feel. “Are you not enjoying this? I can stop-”

“No,” Glenn whimpers, fingers wrapping tight around his wrist. “Don’t–” he pants, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

Dimitri smiles and leans down to turn back to his task at hand. He licks a stripe up Glenn’s inner thigh to where he’s pink and wet and loose from his earlier work. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

—

Dimitri ignores the roar of the crowd. The noise presses in on all sides, louder than he’s ever heard it. Glenn, Ingrid, and Annette are somewhere up in the stands cheering him on, but all that exists is him, his lacrosse stick, and the ball.

The scoreboard reads 13-13. They’ve got one last chance to clinch an invitation to Tokyo next year and they’re down to overtime, desperate and mud-flecked, clawing their way to victory.

Dedue passes the ball. Dimitri catches it. His pulse pounds in his ears as he runs and dodges. There’s a split-second gap, the slimmest sliver of an opportunity, but it’s Dimitri’s turn to bring it home. He doesn’t hesitate.

The ball hits the net just over the goalie’s shoulder. The world erupts in blue and silver. 

-

Glenn finds him in the locker room. 

“Congratulations,” he says, smiling wide and easy. “That’s the best I’ve ever seen you play.”

Dimitri can feel the blush blooming on his cheeks. “I think I have you to thank for that,” he says, embarrassed but pleased.

Glenn, as it turns out, was the missing key to the Lions’ success. While he wasn’t much for keeping track of the painstaking, nitty-gritty details of managing an entire roster of players, he excelled in one-on-one training. He started with the weakest and worked them until they could tackle any drill thrown at them. _Bootcamp,_ the team called it with a mix of affection and fear. 

Glenn smiles and presses up on his tiptoes for a kiss. Dimitri indulges him, settling his hands around his hips. “Nah. It was all you,” Glenn says, blunt and honest in the way Dimitri’s always admired. 

Dimitri hums and indulges himself in a handful of kisses, each one deeper than the last. He feels warm, content, happy. Guilt laps at the edges of his consciousness: about how Glenn should be in uniform with him, should be down on the field instead of cheering from the stands. It’s always here, but it’s quieter today, dampened by the brightness of Glenn’s smile.

“I can’t believe you’re an Olympic athlete” Glenn teases, fingers tangling in the ends of Dimitri’s hair, still wet from his shower earlier.

“Not yet,” Dimitri corrects. “We just qualified, we still need an official invitation–”

“Yeah, but that’s just a matter of… paperwork.”

“I suppose so,” Dimitri agrees. Glenn’s technically right, but it’s strange thinking of himself that way. _Me, an Olympian. Who would’ve thought._

Glenn snorts. “I _know_ so,” he sasses back. Dimitri smiles as he threads their fingers together, pulling them up to press a kiss against the back of Glenn’s. 

“Let’s go home,” Glenn suggests. He presses a kiss against Dimitri’s chest, right over his heart. “We’ve got celebrating to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> *this work does not reflect the author's personal opinion of mac and cheese with jalepeños in it*
> 
> [talk dimiglenn to me](https://twitter.com/cherryconke)


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